Red and Green
by Karisjoa
Summary: Roy/Oliver (Spoilers) After recent events that left Roy changed and Oliver unmasked, Roy's behavior towards Oliver becomes progressively more aggressive and protective. Meanwhile, a new visitor to Starling City sets his sights on destroying the vigilante and corrupting everything and everyone that his business endeavors touches.
1. Chapter 1

I'm totally new to this whole fanfic thing but just had to write something for Arrow after watching seasons 1 and 2 in two weeks. I don't know if anyone is interested in reading Roy/Oliver, but I think that the chemistry between them is too strong to ignore. Yeah, so this is slash. If it's not your thing, please don't read and don't shoot me.

Oh, there might be spoilers for any episode up to season 2, episode 15.

**Red and Green – Part 1**

"Roy, where are you going?" Thea asked her boyfriend in a bewildered tone. They'd been in the middle of watching a fairly interesting crime drama when Roy bolted from the living room in a fairly unsettling clench of fists and hunched shoulders.

"Be back in a sec," Roy called absently over his shoulder to where Thea had practically lurched off of the sofa in response to his sudden exit. He stormed down the lengthy corridors of the Queen family's humble abode. Although there really wasn't anything humble about an enormous old mansion filled with priceless antiques, and stocked with enough furniture and clothing to play host to the entire homeless section of the Glades.

As Roy neared the grand entranceway, bits and pieces of an altercation that he'd overheard began to coalesce into a full-blown argument.

"Why did you have to go and find _her_?! Haven't you done enough already? You just never stop screwing up my life!"

"I never intended for you to find out that way, Laurel. I swear. I never knew."

"Like hell you didn't!"

"But… she is still your sister."

"Shut up!"

Roy rounded the corner just in time to witness a hysterical Laurel Lance belt Oliver Queen across the face, raking her nails over his left cheek for good measure. While Oliver may have been guilty of spending his evenings and early mornings skulking around town in the guise of the Arrow, he was still only human, and, not infallible. He had a major blind spot when it came to Laurel, seemingly thinking that he owed her something. That he would never be done apologizing to her. Begging for her forgiveness for a past event that he couldn't change. Oliver just couldn't see how Laurel had begun to use him as an outlet for everything that went wrong in her life. The verbal abuse was one thing, but now Oliver's passive acceptance of the blame had seemed to give Laurel the unspoken permission to ramp it up a level.

"Hey! That's enough." Roy shouldered Oliver back a step before shoving Laurel a good distance from her unresponsive punching bag. He barely caught himself a split second away from knocking her head off. He still had to learn how to properly control both his temper and his newly acquired super strength. Luckily for Laurel, he'd been in a good mood for the better part of the day, so it wasn't incredibly difficult for him to reign in his power – this time.

"W—what? Roy?" Laurel sputtered, backwheeling off balance before leaning forward to glare at him. "This is between Ollie and myself."

"Looked like it was between Ollie and your fist," Roy snarled in a muted display of disapproval.

Oliver blinked at Roy, and then at Laurel, as if seeing them both for the first time. His deep blue eyes flickered from Laurel's flushed face, to her fingers that were warped into the shape of claws, and then to Roy. As if awakening from a deep dream, he placed his hand on Roy's arm in warning. "Roy, it's okay. I can handle this."

"Oh, can you now?" Laurel mocked Oliver, incensed that he thought that she was a person that could be so easily controlled. "Just like you handled Sara?"

"What is going on out here?" Thea paused near the bottom of the staircase, having been drawn to a scene straight from a daytime drama. She watched Roy shake off Oliver's calming hand, fearing that her boyfriend was about to strike her brother. But he only seemed interested in keeping Oliver away from Laurel, if she interpreted the arm in front of her brother's chest correctly.

"You know, I agree with you on that," Roy snickered, raising his voice at Laurel. "He sucks at dealing with you. So, I'll do what he can't. Get out."

"You've got to be kidding me!" The situation was so incredible that Laurel almost laughed, until she noticed the murderous look in Roy's narrowing gaze. There was something unpredictable and sinister about those light blue eyes, and the way his lips drew back thinly to reveal his gritted teeth. "Fine," she relented, visibly unsettled by Roy's behavior. "Whatever. I don't want to be anywhere near that womanizer anyway." She quickly escaped the mansion with as much dignity as she could manage to hold onto.

The second Laurel was out of sight, Roy turned to Oliver whose face was an impenetrable mask of indifference. "Are you okay?"

Thea hesitated for a moment, picking up on some weird vibe from Roy. She cleared her throat to get Oliver's attention, and to mask her confusion over her supposed boyfriend's bizarre posturing in front of her brother. "Yeah, Ollie. You're bleeding."

Oliver pressed two fingers to the claw marks on his cheek and flippantly replied, "It could've been much worse. She could've gone for my -."

"Would you quit joking about it?" Roy cut Oliver off, glaring at the man that he'd used to secretly idolize. But this was not the Arrow standing in front of him now; it was Oliver Queen. And Roy did not idolize Oliver Queen. "You seriously need to get your act together, man. Letting people blame you for all the shit that goes on. Not standing up for yourself. When are you going to realize that not everything is your fault?"

The murky veil that had been dulling Oliver's actions and emotions temporarily lifted to bring him a mere inch or two from Roy's face. "Don't you dare dictate how I should be running my life or interacting with the people in it. In the future, I would greatly _appreciate it_," he continued sarcastically, "if you'd mind your own business and stay out of my personal affairs."

"Next time you hit back or defend yourself and I won't feel the need to knock out Laurel Lance's teeth."

"Roy!" Thea exclaimed sharply.

Something dangerous was boiling near the surface as Oliver body checked – or attempted to – Roy out of the way. Instead, Roy remained standing and Oliver stumbled a bit before flying up the stairs, two at a time, to the second floor, slamming his bedroom door loud enough to rattle the paintings on the walls.

"I don't know why he doesn't just tell her to back off," Roy muttered underneath his breath. He crossed his arms over his chest and defiantly glared in the direction that Oliver had fled.

"What I don't understand is why you're poking your nose into my brother's love life." Thea studied his expression carefully, trying to read him, but only succeeding in becoming annoyed herself. "If you piss him off, he'll take your head off," she warned. "And I don't want to get stuck in the middle if you two go at it."

"That'll never happen." Roy subtly flexed his powerful muscles, imagining how easy it would be to overpower Oliver. He'd done it twice before, and he wasn't beyond doing it again.

"Good," Thea breathed a sigh of relief, misunderstanding Roy's intentions. To her, 'that'll never happen' translated into, 'I would never fight with your brother'. She had enough crap to worry about without being forced to choose sides. "Let's finish off the movie and then get something to eat. I'm starving."

"Sure thing." Roy followed Thea back to the den where they'd been watching TV. But during the next forty-five minutes of who-killed-Sally and where-is-the-murder-weapon, the only thing that Roy could think about was the look of sadness and defeat in Oliver's eyes before he'd intervened.

(That's it for now. If anyone is interested in this or wants me to continue, feedback would be awesome. I'm kind of hoping that someone other than me is into Roy being with Oliver.)


	2. Chapter 2

**It turns out that I just couldn't stop writing this story. It's taken on a life of its own. **

**Red and Green – Part 2**

Oliver paced back and forth in his extraordinarily large bedroom, eyeing the lavishly decorated – if not dreadfully old fashioned – sanctuary that was supposedly his to claim. The freshly polished mahogany bookshelves loomed over him, haphazardly cluttered with textbooks, manuals, journals, maps, and the odd sculpture or platinum-laced globe. His bare toes and heels soundlessly wore down the Persian carpet that he treaded over for the hundredth time that hour. Had this really been his home five years ago? How had he felt about it then?

Craning his neck upwards to appraise the insanely rich chandelier illuminating the center of the room, Oliver decided that it didn't really matter that he couldn't remember how this room had made him feel. The only thing he knew was that it was making him feel miserable and uncomfortable now.

He'd spent five years on a hellish island, braving the tumultuous weather, enemy attacks, torture, and the rogue landmine. It had been a very long and dark period of his life. And now that he was back _home_, was he expected to find a claustrophobic museum of a room inviting? Hell, the bed had to be older than his great-grandmother. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if she had slept in it, way back when.

The books held no meaning for him. The wardrobe didn't have anything in it that he had the slightest intention of wearing. It was all for show. Just one big model showroom for a pompous celebrity to go nuts in.

Oliver paused when he heard faint footsteps padding down the opposite end of the hallway. Thea. Followed by heavier, careless footsteps. Roy. He tensed when Roy took a step in the wrong direction. During his forced survival training, Oliver had learnt how to identify a person by their footsteps. A lot could be said about a person based on the way they walked. Whether it was a man or woman, someone he was familiar with, what kind of mood they were in, how aggressive they were, if they suffered from any physical ailments…

Oliver sincerely hoped that Roy had the common sense to steer clear of him tonight. He'd had just about enough of Thea's uncontrollable boyfriend for one week. He was beginning to wonder if he'd seriously misjudged Roy. Had revealing his secret identity to the rebellious upstart really been unavoidable? Could he have found another way to access and destroy the earthquake machine without pulling his hood down and removing his mask in a last ditch attempt to tear Roy out of the murderous rage he had flown into? Had he been mistaken?

When Oliver turned over the idea of Roy blurting out his secret to Thea – inadvertently or intentionally – he felt a sick churning in the pit of his stomach. He'd basically already lost everyone that mattered to him. His father was long dead, his final resting place under a pile of rocks on that godforsaken island. Laurel hated his guts. His own mother was an unknown element in his life, and a potential threat to the honor of his family. And then there was Tommy… Poor Tommy. He couldn't bear to lose Thea too. If she ever found out what he did in his spare time… But was Roy truly capable of such a thing? Would he betray the trust of a man who had saved his life – twice?

* * *

"Roy?" Thea glanced over her shoulder when she realized that her faithful boyfriend wasn't at her side.

"Yeah. Coming." Roy took a left at the stair landing, physically wrenching himself in the opposite direction of where his instincts wanted to take him. He'd been struggling with bizarre urges all week, not entirely aware of them until his fists connected with flesh, or the sounds of sirens woke him from the nightmare that he continued to live in. He had taken on criminal after criminal, defying Oliver behind his back, until he'd grown sick of pursuing bottom feeders. Putting down the occasional burglar or drug dealer could not satiate his anger and brute strength. He needed a deadlier adversary to throttle in order to balance his temper. But the only way he could get his hands on a deadlier adversary was through Oliver.

For the third time since he'd met her, Roy entered Thea's bedroom and smirked when she gave him a suggestive look and locked the door behind him. Watching mysteries or horror movies had a peculiar affect on Thea; they sexually frustrated her. The first time they'd had sex, they'd been hesitant and careful. The second had been after a particularly nasty horror movie. They'd barely made it to the bedroom with their clothes intact before Thea had launched herself at him.

This time, Roy was prepared to show Thea who was in charge. She wasn't the only one who was horny as hell tonight. He reached for her as she playfully moved out of reach, urging him towards the bed. He sprang at her, knocking her onto the bed, and pinned her down, ravishing her with nips and kisses, which she throatily encouraged. His mouth covered hers, his eyes shuttering closed as he began to subconsciously block out the sound of her voice and the lightly perfumed smell of her skin. Instead, his mind began to conjure up an image, followed by a memory of that fateful night up on the rooftop where things had changed. The night he had followed Oliver despite being warned not to. He remembered Oliver's painful moan after the thug Bronze Tiger had stabbed the Arrow in the shoulder with his signature claw weapon. He hadn't been thinking when he'd wrenched Bronze Tiger away from the Arrow, pummeling him into the ground, blood spraying his knuckles and clothes. His only goal had been to make sure that that filth never hurt the Arrow again.

Muted shouts had called his name, but he'd ignored them, throwing punch after punch until he couldn't recognize what it was that he was hitting.

And then, the vocally distorted voice had changed. The deep, electronically scrambled voice of the Arrow had become more high pitched, more desperate. More human.

When Roy had looked up, confusion had waged war with the anger surging through his veins. He'd seen the tight, dark green leather outfit that the Arrow was fond of fighting crime in. But, it hadn't been the Arrow who was wearing it. It had been Oliver Queen. Rich boy - stranded on a deserted - useless, good-for-nothing Oliver Queen. Sure, Oliver had implored him to save Thea, to think about Thea. But from that moment on, Roy hadn't been able to think about anything but Oliver. How they'd stood face to face after the explosion. How nervous and embarrassed Oliver had appeared, having no choice but to confirm that he was indeed the Arrow and no, Roy was not hallucinating. After a bit of fidgeting on Oliver's part, Roy had put out his hand and Oliver had taken it. They'd shaken hands as a means of understanding, of an unspoken agreement. And Roy had leaned in to inhale the sweet, musky scent of Oliver's skin, exposed from the neck up. The movement had been too subtle for Oliver to catch onto, not that he would've suspected Roy of that sort of behavior in the first place. But, for Roy, it had been the beginning of something powerful that went beyond hero worship and respect.

Roy pulled away from Thea, his fingers detangling from her soft, wavy brown hair in a panic.

Thea tried to calm him, thinking that he was worried about her mother walking in on them. "My mother won't be home from her meeting for another two hours. You can relax."

"It's not that."

"Then, what is it?"

Thea had been nothing but kind and honest with Roy from the start, surely he owed her the same? Perhaps he could tell her that he was conflicted over his need to protect and destroy. She wouldn't be able to understand the extent of his powers because he couldn't tell her about the mira-kuru that he'd been injected with. But he might be able to hint at it without giving away too much. But what if she confided in Oliver and asked for his help, like she had a tendency to do on occasion? Oliver would feel betrayed and let down. Considering how far he'd pushed Oliver already, it wouldn't take much more than a hint of endangering Thea for Oliver to shut him out for good. And were his super powers the true cause of his wavering emotions, or was it Oliver himself?

Groaning in frustration, Roy climbed off of the bed and clenched his hands into fists. It was the only thing he was really good at doing. Even if he risked pissing Oliver off by talking about his feelings with Thea, it would still mean being dishonest with her. Truth be told, he didn't give a damn about accidentally putting criminals in the hospital. His strength was the furthest thing from his mind. What was really bothering him was how he was obsessing over his girlfriend's brother. Oliver wasn't his problem. Shouldn't be his problem.

"Roy? Talk to me." Thea rearranged her blouse and sat up properly on the bed, somehow knowing that this wasn't going to end the way she'd hoped.

"Oliver," Roy blurted out in a tone that was a cross between disbelief and accusation.

Thea blinked, studied Roy's reddening face, and swallowed hard. "What about my brother?"

"He's just… The way he… you know," he growled, feeling stupider when he couldn't make sense of his feelings or string a couple of words together.

"Um, actually, I don't know." Thea rolled her eyes and sighed a little louder than she'd meant to. "We were in the middle of something and you pull away to talk about Ollie. I've got to admit, I'm totally lost." Most women would probably be offended if their man had suddenly lost the urge before they'd even started. Thankfully, Thea was not most women. She was incredibly patient and understanding, especially when it came to Roy.

"I don't know what it is that I'm trying to say," Roy admitted, scratching at the back of his neck in annoyance.

"Try. It must be pretty important for you to be this wound up."

"It's just that… when I was kissing you," Roy tried to wrestle the words out of his mouth but he still wasn't sure what he wanted to say. He just kept seeing Oliver's face, drowning in those deep, soulful blue eyes. Wondering what it would be like to run his fingers through Oliver's short, dirty blond hair, grabbing him by it to hold him still. Still for what? Roy jerked his head to the side, forcing the images from his mind as his intense gaze locked with Thea's. Maybe it was the way he'd brought up Oliver and then trailed off about kissing Thea. Or maybe it was because he looked guilty as hell. Either way, the look of pure horror on Thea's face told him that there was no need for him to continue.

"You… You're into _my brother_?" She didn't look disgusted, just shocked and hurt, so Roy didn't attempt to deny it.

"I didn't intend to… It just happened. It's probably because of all the stress I've been under lately."

Thea made a muffled sound from behind her hand but said nothing.

"It's not like I would ever do anything about it," he insisted, placing his hands on her shoulders. "You just said that we should always be honest, that we should tell each other everything."

Thea moved her hand away from her mouth to gently but firmly brush Roy's hands away. "I think that you took that too literally."

"People go through these phases, right? That's what it is – a phase."

"And when you were kissing me, were you fantasizing about Ollie?"

"Thea," Roy protested.

"Just answer the question," she sniffed, wiping tears from her eyes. "And don't lie."

It took several minutes for Roy to answer, which was an answer in and of itself. Still, Thea waited patiently until Roy gave voice to the truth. "Yeah, I was. I'm sorry." He hung his head in shame.

"Roy, don't take this the wrong way, but could you please leave me alone? I really can't be around you right now."

"But…"

"You just told me that you were fantasizing about my brother while we were kissing. I think that you'll agree that leaving is the best thing you can do right now," Thea choked sarcastically.

"Okay," Roy agreed quietly. "I'll go, but please don't tell him."

A bitter laugh escaped before Thea could swallow it. "Oh, knowing you, Roy, I'm sure that you'll tell him all on your own. After all, you always get what you want."

Roy quickly left Thea's bedroom before her mild dismissal turned into something uglier. He was halfway down the stairs when the sound of a bedroom door opening brought him running back up them. However, it wasn't Thea's bedroom door that had opened. It was Oliver's.

(This story is kind of slow building but will pick up on the slash soon. What did you think of it so far? Is anyone interested in me continuing it?)


	3. Chapter 3

**Red and Green – Part 3**

Oliver abruptly stopped a few meters from the staircase, indecisively contemplating returning to his bedroom to climb out the window instead of having to maneuver past Roy. Roy had stopped a few steps from the landing, midstride, and was staring at Oliver intensely. It was an unnerving stare, and it made Oliver uncharacteristically nervous.

Whenever Oliver was not gallivanting around in a leather costume, fighting for the safety and honor of the citizens of Starling City, he was dressing smartly in designer clothes, neatly polished brand name shoes, and getting around town in lavishly equipped sports cars. But, whereas the Arrow was the epitome of confidence, agility, and strength, Oliver Queen was presented as an awkward man with no real purpose, reveling in the riches that was his birthright. It was an act that was absolutely necessary to deflect unwanted attention and separate him from his alter ego. So, he was pretty good at pretending to be nervous or ignorant in front of the people that he associated with on a daily basis. But, whenever he was in Roy's presence, Oliver felt truly uneasy. Pinpointing the source of his apprehension might have been a lot easier if Roy would just stop magically appearing around every corner. Oliver needed time to sit down and think, but Roy seemed to have no intention of granting him that temporal space.

As Oliver passed Roy on the stairs, he debated over questioning the former hoodlum on the whereabouts of Thea. It seemed a little off for Roy to be roaming around the mansion without his enamored escort. In the end, Oliver decided that saying nothing would guarantee him a quick exit, so he passed his sister's boyfriend without so much as a nod.

"Hey," Roy called out, catching Oliver lightning quick by his forearm. "Where are you going?"

Oliver pulled his arm back in annoyance, expecting to break free and continue on his way, but his movements were halted by the power of Roy's grip. It was unbreakable.

Turning to Roy, Oliver gave him a look that was a cross between scolding a dog and challenging a python. Why did he keep forgetting that his aspiring protégé was no longer just an ordinary street thug? Every time he underestimated Roy, he ended up halfway across the room, flat on his back. "I have business to attend to."

"Arrow business?" Roy narrowed his all too serious eyes at Oliver, not relaxing the tension in the fingers that crushed cotton fabric and kept Oliver immobile with bruising force. "I thought that we were past this? You said that you needed my help. I made a difference last time. I got control of my temper."

Oliver winced a bit as Roy clenched his fingers closer together to get his point across. "Did you really?" He questioned sarcastically. "And how's that control working out for you right now?"

It took a moment for Roy to catch on to Oliver's meaning, but when he did he immediately released Oliver, looking sincerely upset and apologetic. "Sorry, I was just worried that… Dammit!" Before Oliver could wave off Roy's concern, Roy was backing Oliver up against the staircase railing. One hand held Oliver's right arm steady by the elbow, while his other yanked up the sleeve of Oliver's white designer shirt. "Shit, you bruise easily." His fingers gently skimmed the darkening skin of Oliver's forearm, oblivious to the discomfort that he was causing the other man.

"No, it's your fingers that crush easily," Oliver muttered, trying to slip out of the space that Roy had trapped him in.

"I didn't mean to hurt you." Roy carefully watched Oliver's reaction to his touch, noting how Oliver bristled sharply when he stroked his thumb over the sensitive flesh of the archer's wrist. Having admitted his interest in Oliver to Thea hadn't been enough to convince Roy that this was what he really wanted. As brash as he was, he had no desire to mess with the dynamics of his relationship with Oliver. Or at least he hadn't planned on altering their shaky friendship until he'd begun to pick up on some awfully peculiar telltale signs. It wasn't that Oliver was doing anything to encourage him. It was what Oliver wasn't doing to push him away.

"It's fine, Roy," Oliver said gruffly, attempting to shatter the uncomfortable moment that he felt Roy had locked them in.

Maybe Roy was reading the signals all wrong. Maybe he was just inventing them for his own benefit. As far as he knew, the roguishly handsome Oliver Queen had never been with another man. And there was no reason for Oliver to suspect that Roy was coming onto him. Why should he? A mere five minutes earlier, Roy had been in Oliver's sister's bedroom, making out with her… and visualizing Oliver instead.

"Oliver…" Roy started, hesitating when Oliver yanked his arm away and made as if to continue down the stairs.

"I have things to do. If you need advice about Thea…"

He should let Oliver walk away and take some time to compose himself and reflect on his feelings. This was nothing but a one-way encounter. There was no way that Oliver could possibly reciprocate his affections. While Roy was drinking in the imaginary tension in the air, Oliver was acting as if nothing was amiss. The archer suspected nothing. And that was the way Roy should leave it. Let Oliver go on with his meaningless life of self-recrimination and internal suffering. Just stand by and watch him get trashed and betrayed by the people he strove to save. What did it matter to him?

But, as Oliver took another step downwards, Roy suddenly slammed both hands onto the railing on either side of him. If nothing else had, that threatening movement switched Oliver into attack mode. He seized Roy's left arm with both hands, preparing to throw him, but was knocked off balance by Roy's body weight.

"I can't let you go." Roy aggressively pinned Oliver up against the railing, grabbed the archer's scruffy chin with his free hand, and covered the startled man's mouth with his.

(If you enjoyed reading this, please leave a review and let me know what you think! I'm dying to see the next episode of Arrow. Roy has so much potential.)


	4. Chapter 4

**I decided to change the rating on this story to M because of the descriptive scenes between Roy and Oliver. **

**Red and Green – Part 4**

The first thing that Roy realized was that kissing Oliver was nothing like kissing Thea. With Thea, there was no grappling, no resistance. But with Oliver… the first few seconds couldn't even be called a kiss. Oliver jerked his head to one side, avoiding contact with Roy's lips. Roy felt strong nimble fingers biting into his biceps, shoving at him, but he didn't relent. He wrapped one arm around Oliver's back, squeezing him close, and leaned forward. His lips pressed to Oliver's, his tongue sliding between them, demanding entry. The more Oliver fought him, the more turned on Roy became.

Oliver made a muffled sound of protest, which was silenced when Roy slipped his tongue into the archer's mouth. It was at that precise moment that Oliver stopped struggling, frozen with shock and disbelief as Roy's tongue stroked against his own. How had he failed to anticipate this? Surely there had to have been signs, an indication that Roy had desired him in this manner? Was it desire? Or was it domination? And what about Thea?

As soon as the thought of Thea entered Oliver's mind, it immediately vanished as he concentrated on not reacting to the sensations that Roy was igniting within him. He felt too hot. His lips too sensitive. And the palm of Roy's hand pushing against the tense spot between his shoulder blades burned through the fabric of his shirt.

Roy deepened the kiss, forcing Oliver to arch his back over the railing. The feeling of empowerment was almost overwhelming, but the sound of the careless moan that escaped Oliver urged Roy on. Their kiss became smoldering, a wet tongue gliding over swollen lips. Whether Oliver was acting on instinct, or the need for self preservation, Roy couldn't determine. But there was no mistaking that Oliver was no longer a passive participant in this.

They were two men without any conscious thoughts – just the need for touch and closeness, for a brief moment of release.

Roy pulled away to wetly kiss along Oliver's bearded jaw, causing the archer to let out a frustrated groan of desperation. When Roy spared his prey a curious look, he nearly lost complete control at the sight of Oliver Queen enthralled by his ministrations. Oliver's eyes were tightly shut, his lips barely parted. Wanting to hear Oliver moan some more, Roy dragged his tongue from the base of Oliver's throat, up to just behind his left ear. He was rewarded with a whimper that sounded so unlike the tough ass hero that he'd put on a pedestal last year. He nipped at Oliver's earlobe before growling into his ear. "You know, I really had a thing for you in that tight, green leather. But now, I think I prefer you like this. It's more real."

Robbed of the ability to reply, Oliver could only grit his teeth to keep the noise to a minimum. He had no idea what he was doing. Why he was allowing Roy to pleasure him in this way. He wished he could deny it but Roy's powerful arms locking around his body in a crushing embrace, that hungry mouth seeking his out again, did things to Oliver that he had trouble resisting.

But, just as they were getting into their second kiss, the sound of a key being turned in a keyhole yanked both men out of the private little world that they'd lost themselves in.

Roy released Oliver and backed away, nearly falling down the stairs at a dangerous angle when Oliver suddenly shoved him for all he was worth.

"Oliver!" Mrs. Queen cried out in alarm, her keys dangling from one hand, her purse and boutique shopping bags clutched firmly in the other. "What on earth are you doing?!" She'd only seen Oliver push Roy, so she had no idea what had transpired up until that point.

"Reminding Roy of the way things are supposed to be," Oliver snapped at his mother, looking angry and upset while sounding breathless and slightly confused. He hurried down the stairs, past his mother, and fled the mansion before anyone had the nerve to follow him.

"Roy, dear, are you alright?" Mrs. Queen asked in concern.

Leaning nonchalantly on the railing, having regained his balance, Roy grinned at the head of Queen household. "Yeah. No worries." Damn Mrs. Queen and her awful timing. He'd nearly succeeded in coaxing Oliver out of his shell when the matriarchal figure had gone and ruined everything. Roy had seen spooked horses take off at slower speeds than that.

"What were you boys fighting about?"

It really was funny how Mrs. Queen continued to refer to men over the age of twenty as boys. If she only knew what her son had been up to before she'd walked in the door. Roy shrugged as if to dismiss Oliver's violent display. "I just said something to piss him off. That's all."

"You know, when I was your age, nobody used such vulgar language," she sighed, dropping her shopping bags onto the floor and her keys into the little bowl by the entrance.

"You're not even that old, Mrs. Queen."

She smiled, still taken in by Roy's earnest ass kissing, totally unaware of the lethal killing machine that he'd become. And of the fact that Roy wasn't too fond of her now that Oliver was avoiding her like the plague. Whatever had gone on between mother and son had made Oliver a lot more closed and distrusting than he'd been before. And that was saying a lot!

"Well, thank you, Roy. That's sweet of you to say. Were you looking for Thea?"

"Uh… no. I just came by to see Oliver. I've gotta run now."

"Drop by anytime." Mrs. Queen patted Roy on the arm, sending him off with a look of approval.

* * *

Down in the lair of the Arrow, deep beneath the nightclub that he'd built above, Oliver stood stiffly with his arms crossed in front of his chest. He'd been standing like that for the past fifteen minutes. Standing there, refusing to think. To allow himself to feel. Because if he did…

"Must you hover?" Oliver's entrusted cyber genius, Felicity Smoak, gave him an accusing look before spinning her chair back around so that she was facing her collection of computer monitors once more. "Sometimes you creep me out. You just stand there. And you don't say anything. Am I the only one who thinks that's weird?"

"No, that's the way he gets when he's brooding." Sara Lance, known to members of the underworld as Black Canary, stalked over to Oliver with a knowing grin. "So, what is it this time? Laurel or your mother?"

"Neither." Oliver shrugged off Sara's comforting hand, not seeing the flicker of hurt that was automatically replaced with a stoic barricade. "Felicity, could you please hurry up with that location."

"What's the hurry? We've spent four days tracking down this cyber stalker. He only attacks on Fridays. That's in two days. Another hour certainly won't - -."

"Felicity!" Oliver warned in his no bullshit tone that translated into 'shut up!' Although he adored and respected Felicity, considering her to be an honorary sister of sorts, her babbling sometimes tested his patience. When it came to hunting down physically or sexually violent predators, Oliver was seriously lacking in the patience area.

"Whoa! What's got you so riled up?" Sara observed Oliver carefully, watched him sift through emotion after emotion before coming up with one that he could deal with – non-emotion.

"Nothing. I just don't want to see another innocent woman get raped."

"And you won't." Felicity adjusted the glasses on the bridge of her nose and went back to her cyber tracking. "I've almost got it."

"Ollie, what's going on?" Sara continued to pry, curiously amused when Oliver's cheeks flushed scarlet as if some forbidden thought had gotten loose in his head.

"I'm not in the mood to discuss it." Oliver began to organize his bow and arrows, getting ready to bolt as soon as Felicity coughed up an address.

"Well, if you do feel like talking about it, I'm here for you," Sara offered supportively.

"Me too! Although, not in that sense. Obviously. The 'for you' part is kind of ambiguous," Felicity clarified as she handed Oliver a sticky note with an address neatly scrawled onto it.

"Thank you. Both of you." As messed up as Oliver felt at the moment, he still felt grateful to have such wonderful people as his friends and allies. "I just need to shoot a few arrows and get it out of my system." He ran into John Diggle on the way up the stairs and paused to trade a few words with him. "Hey, Dig! Could you do me a favor?"

"Sure, man! What do you need? Backup? Firepower?"

"Not exactly. If Roy shows up, could you go a few rounds with him? I think that he needs to increase his training regimen. You know, all that testosterone and mira-kuru can't be good for him."

Diggle made a sour face and visibly deflated. "Why me? If he loses his temper again, I might just wind up losing an eye or a limb."

"Because he acts differently around you."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It's a good thing. Trust me. See you later!" Oliver made himself scarce before Diggle could reject his newly appointed mission. If there was one thing that Diggle hated, it was playing babysitter. Now, Roy would be kept busy and out of Oliver's hair so that he hone his thought processes and return to what he was good at – protecting his city.

**(The antagonist will show up in part 5, and the angsty drama between Roy and Oliver will continue. Perhaps there will be another confrontation… or maybe not. What do you think?)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Okay, this part is quite a lot longer the previous ones and ends on a dark note. Although it isn't really graphic, it might be a bit scary for sensitive readers.**

**Red and Green – Part 5**

All the anxious waiting that Oliver had been doing down in his lair had granted him the freedom to travel to his intended destination by motorcycle. By the time he revved the engine of his customized ride, aiming it straight for the on-ramp leading to the highway, the afternoon had faded into darkened blurs around the edges of his vision. In the middle of the tail end of rush hour traffic, he was just another leather-clad biker on the road. Nothing suspicious about a man in leather riding a motorcycle, helmet safely shielding his masked face from the motorists that he sped past. If he had set out an hour or two earlier, he would have been forced to stow his costume and mask in the satchel that he'd strapped to his back. Now it was stuffed with a t-shirt and a pair of jeans – regular clothes - just in case he needed to escape into a public area, minus his ride.

A few minutes after he'd been on the highway, traveling north at fifteen to twenty kilometers over the speed limit, his two-way communicator buzzed in his ear.

"Yes, Felicity?" He was mildly pleased to note that he sounded a lot calmer now. He regretted that he'd spoken rudely to the slightly socially inept woman earlier. Felicity didn't go out of her way to be annoying. Oliver was just easily annoyed.

"Uh… yeah, hi."

Oliver found himself grinning despite the seriousness of his mission. He could definitely see why Sara thought Felicity was cute. "Hi yourself. I'm about ten or fifteen minutes out from the target."

"About that…," Felicity uncomfortably cleared her throat. "Roy is here, right now. Right beside me actually. He wants to know where you are."

The black helmet that Oliver was wearing suddenly felt intrusive, claustrophobic, and hot. "I thought that Diggle was going to handle him."

"Oh, he tried. He's upstairs taking some painkillers and trying to keep his weight off of his swollen left ankle. Diggle, not Roy. Sara managed to pop his dislocated shoulder back into place, but…"

"Dislocated shoulder?!" Oliver shouted into the helmet, cringing when the earpiece echoed and vibrated in his right ear.

"Yup. You should've seen it. It was a whole five minutes of testosterone, blood, and four letter expletives. I'd prefer not to end up the same way, so can you please just settle this with Roy, by yourself?"

The earpiece screeched again as its receiving twin was dropped, dragged, and picked up on the other end.

"Oliver. Where are you?" Roy demanded to know, his voice thick with concern.

"Roy, now is not the time."

"This isn't about _that_. But we are gonna talk about it later. Whether you want to or not."

"Listen, there is nothing to discuss. It shouldn't have happened, and it won't happen again."

Roy snickered on the other end. "We'll see. But, like I said, I don't give a shit about that right now. I want to know where you are. You need backup."

"That's what Diggle is for."

"In case you have trouble hearing, Diggle is recovering from a serious ass kicking at the moment. Now, are you going to give me your location or do I need to scare it out of Felicity?"

"We both know that you wouldn't do anything to Felicity. I'm signing off now. I can't deal with these distractions." Oliver cut the signal on the transceiver, returning his full attention to the road in front of him. He couldn't think about Roy now. He needed to erase the lingering feeling of Roy's hands on his arms, of the way he'd been kissed on the stairs of his own house by a man that was supposed to faithful to his sister. And of the way that kiss had made him feel.

* * *

Down in the hidden basement of Verdant, Starling City's hottest new nightclub, Roy slammed his fist into the back of the chair that Felicity had been sitting in, denting the steel frame inwards. "Dammit!"

"He's like that," Felicity said with a shrug, referring to Oliver's stubbornness while ignoring the damage that Roy was constantly causing.

"Okay, I tried to do this the _right_ way by asking Oliver himself. Since he's too much of an idiot to admit that he needs help, you're going to give me the address instead."

"I am?"

"Yes, you are. Because he's your friend and you'd rather not see your friend get hurt because he took on hell-knows-what by himself."

"There's a reason why he doesn't want you out in the field again," Felicity warned, refusing to give up the address.

"Yeah, there is. And it isn't the reason that you think."

"Look, it doesn't matter what I think. I promised Oliver that I wouldn't give you the address. I can't break my promise."

Roy swore in frustration, turning his gaze downwards so that Felicity wouldn't be able to see the pain that was festering there. "So, Oliver goes out and protects the city and everyone is happy with that," he said bitterly. "But nobody seems to care that there's nobody to protect Oliver. What if something happens to him after I went and took out his bodyguard? Do you know how to get in touch with Sara?"

Felicity watched Roy for a moment, wondering what reason he had for pursuing Oliver so adamantly. He sounded sincere enough. And he had a point. It wasn't like she never worried about Oliver. If she could count the number of times that careless man had come back injured and close to death… "I don't know how to contact Sara. She comes and goes."

"Felicity, please?"

Roy's imploring plea finally managed to reach her. She silently wrote down the address that she'd given Oliver, passing it to Roy this time. "Promise that you won't breathe a word of where you got it from."

"I swear. Thank you. I owe you one."

"Two actually, but who's counting?"

* * *

When Oliver slowly cruised past the address that Felicity had painstakingly acquired, he quickly began to reformulate his plan of attack. He'd been expecting a hole in the ground, but instead was confronted with a wide estate set behind a barbed wire fence, most of its grounds concealed by rows of thickly grown bushes.

Oh well. He needed to hone his acrobatics skills anyway, and nothing beat flipping over an electrified fence in a hooded getup with an armful of arrows.

Parking his motorcycle in a quiet little cul de sac down a ways, Oliver stealthily made his way back to the large estate. After reassuring himself that there weren't any guards lurking around or hidden cameras in the bushes, he made a running jump onto the slanted trunk of an oak tree on the boulevard. From there, he sprang upwards, temporarily latched onto a flimsy looking branch overhead, and successfully flipped over the thorny fence. Once he'd landed gracefully inside the perimeter, he crouched behind a bush and waited.

There was no sign of movement on either side of the fence. So far, his entrance had gone unnoticed.

Oliver crept along the back of the bushes, keeping them between him and the pitch black house that he kept in his sights at all times. He continued until he spotted a window leading to the basement. Most of the time he avoided basements due to their restrictive layouts. There were far too few ways out, and, if the basement hadn't been renovated in a while, it was like a death trap of clutter. But this time he purposely sought out the basement, edging towards that window, testing it for alarms, before gently prying it open. He reasoned that the stalker profile that Felicity had put together was accurate in assuming that the man was some closet pervert conducting his online sessions from the privacy of his bedroom. Given the stalker's attention to detail, he would probably be alerted to an intruder coming in from the second floor. Oliver couldn't chance him escaping or injuring anyone else who might just happen to be in the house with him.

Still, it was awfully dark…

For some unknown reason, Oliver held his breath in anticipation, drawing his bow and arrow as soon as his feet were planted firmly on the floor of the basement. It was cold. Colder than a basement had any right to be in the middle of autumn. And it smelled awful.

Moving carefully around shadowy lumps of furniture and dusty cardboard boxes, Oliver made his way to where he estimated the staircase to be. He was nearly halfway across the room when a quivering whisper caused his heart to lurch in his chest. Swallowing the need to breathe, he spun around in a panic, aiming his bow and arrow at… the body of a crumpled naked woman, lying brokenly on the floor.

"Help me," she rasped, reaching a trembling hand out in Oliver's direction.

As soon as he realized what he was aiming at, Oliver lowered his weapon and rushed to the woman's aid. "Are you alone? Who did this to you? Where are you hurt?" He pulled off his glove to press two fingers to her throat, checking her pulse. His eyes had yet to adjust to the dimness of the room so he couldn't see how badly injured she was.

"Only… me," she croaked.

"How long ago did he leave you here? Do you know when he'll be back?"

"No."

"Can you stand?" Against his better judgment, Oliver put down his bow and arrow to help support the woman when she attempted to get to her feet and slumped over instead.

"Maybe…"

Oliver gently slid an arm around her shoulders, preparing to guide her back towards the window he'd come in through, when his vision blurred as the room spun violently past him. His back slammed into something hard, knocking him forward again, onto his hands and knees. Somewhere in the back of his mind he realized that he'd been thrown, but he had a difficult time pinpointing the location of the enemy. He struggled to his feet, grimacing when his lower back throbbed painfully from where it had hit the invisible pole behind him. He had to protect the victim. Get her out before it came to gunfire or hurled objects.

Before Oliver could make a move, his feet were swept out from under him, the fall knocking the air out of him. He gasped for breath, kicking and clawing at the cement floor as he was dragged across it.

"He said you would come. The vigilante is so predictable, he said." Although the voice was not light, it was surprisingly female. And the fingers that gripped Oliver's ankles were thin but powerful. "Always so sexist. Thinking that I needed your help. That I would want your help."

How?! Oliver rolled on the ground, scissored the supposedly frail woman's arms between his legs and brought her forcefully to the ground. Proving that the whole injured damsel in distress thing was nothing but a charade, she recovered quicker than he did, pouncing on him with the speed of a wild animal. Her grimy fingers scratched at his mask, her thighs clamping onto either side of his ribcage with bruising force.

It wasn't that he didn't want to hurt her. At that point, woman or not, he really did want to do her some serious bodily harm. It was that he hadn't been expecting any of this. There weren't supposed to be any women in the basement. The stalker shouldn't have known he was coming. What kind of stalker trained his victims to attack their rescuers? The world had really become screwed up during the five years that Oliver had spent stranded on that island.

"Get off of me!" Oliver growled, roughly shoving the woman's hands away from his face so that he could punch her solidly in the temple. But she barely faltered, shifting so that she moved with the blow. When she pulled back her fist and landed a hard punch to Oliver's stomach, he almost retched from the pain. She deflected the rest of Oliver's attacks, using Oliver's prone position to his disadvantage. She was heavier than she looked, and a lot more vicious. Her hands latched onto the collared area of Oliver's green hood, cinched it tightly around his throat, effectively choking him, and hauled his unwilling body to the back of the room. It was there that she flung him backwards, through an even darker doorway and into an abyss of black. A door closed after that, sealing Oliver in with the stench that had repelled him from the basement in the first place.

Crawling to his hands and knees, Oliver tried unsuccessfully to draw fresh air into his lungs. His stomach ached and his throat refused to allow him to swallow for several moments. Not even a fragment of light penetrated this room. There were no windows. When Oliver could breathe normally again, he fought for precious seconds against the overwhelming urge to throw up. Pulling his hood closer around his face, he felt along the ground for a weapon of some sort. Something he could use against his attacker if she opened the door again.

His hand touched something cold, soft, and slack. Now Oliver was desperately fighting the instinct to scream. He'd been locked in a room full of dead bodies.

"He'll be back for you soon," the woman called from the other side of the door. "He's been looking forward to _playing_ with you for some time."

What was that supposed to mean? Oliver began to panic, jerkily backpedaling away from the body he'd accidentally touched only to brush up against another behind him. He felt his way to the door, tried the handle, threw his body weight against it. From the far corner of the room, something moved.

It was like he was eight years old again, having just awoken from a really bad nightmare. He knew that his parents would be mad at him if he made a fuss over it, but he needed them to come to his room all the same. If for nothing else then to reassure him that it had been only a nightmare. His father would turn on the light and his mother would tell him how silly he was calling for them in the middle of the night. Monsters didn't exist. Not in the real world. Only that they did. And Oliver wished that he hadn't rejected Roy's insisted offer of help. If Roy had been with him, he never would have let down his guard so easily. Roy would have had his back.

But Roy wasn't with him now, and Oliver had never felt more alone than he did in that claustrophobic room with frigid corpses for companions. And shapeless things scuttling around on the floor. Oliver backed as far against the door as he possibly could, drawing his knees up to his chest and covering his hands with his ears. He tried to block out the sounds, to quell the tide of insanity rising inside of him. However, when the sound of a buzz saw from the other room began to cut through something far too dense to be wood, something inside Oliver broke.

**(I think that I might just have nightmares after writing this. Hopefully not. Poor Oliver. Will Roy get to him in time? As always, reviews are greatly appreciated and inspire me to write faster.)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Many hugs and lots of appreciation for everyone who has stopped by to read this story and leave me feedback. It really makes me happy and encourages me to write more!**

**Red and Green – Part 6**

After being injected with the mira-kuru serum, Roy had found himself blessed – or cursed, depending on how well he managed to control his temper – with heightened senses, enhanced strength and speed, and the remarkable ability to recover and quickly heal from just about anything. He'd been brought back from the brink of death, thanks to Oliver, when his body had attempted to reject the mira-kuru by stopping his heart. He had punched through brick, and then steel. A light platform had fallen on him and he'd barely felt a thing. And then he'd been shot through the hand… but the bullet hole had disappeared without a trace.

So, with all these amazing superhuman attributes, why was it that he couldn't handle a little rush hour traffic?

Roy had left in pursuit of Oliver around an hour and a half ago. It should have only taken him forty minutes to reach Oliver's current location. Maybe a little under given Roy's original break-neck speed of 160 kilometers an hour. However, he'd been forced to drop down to 40 kilometers an hour after some jackass a few exits up ahead had caused an accident, resulting in a multi-car pileup. Something about driving one-handed while texting and performing a social networking site status update. And the only reason he knew that much was because Felicity had told him so. It wasn't like the traffic newscaster would go into that much detail.

"Felicity, has Oliver contacted you yet?"

The earpiece crackled a bit before Felicity responded. "No. I have a bad feeling about this. It's been ninety minutes already."

To most people, ninety minutes meant a short movie, minus the commercials. Or an extra long wait at the dentist's office. But to someone like Oliver, in his line of work it translated into the difference between life and death.

"Were you able to hack into any of the security cameras in the area?"

"There are surprisingly few in that neighborhood, but I was able to pull up a few images. Oliver's motorcycle is parked three streets over. There is little pedestrian activity. Not that there would be much at this hour."

"Anything useful?" Roy couldn't stop the sarcasm from leaking into his voice.

"You know, sometimes you're not much different from Oliver. You're like two peas in a pod." Judging by the lack of infliction in her tone, Felicity was most likely used to the sarcasm by now. "Unfortunately, there isn't anything to hack into in that house's vicinity. Not even a cell phone signal."

"Is there a faster route by the city? I'm gonna be stuck in this mess for at least another twenty minutes."

"Not unless your corvette has wings. There isn't another exit between the one you last passed and the one you're aiming for."

"That's just fucking great." Roy really hoped that Oliver had just dropped his transceiver somewhere and was too busy rounding up criminals to be bothered with checking in. He stomped down the feeling of guilt that churned in his stomach like the beginnings of indigestion. He didn't want to think that his physical encounter with Oliver had tipped the archer off of his regular rhythm, making him careless. If anything had happened to Oliver, Roy would surely blame himself. No, he couldn't allow himself to even consider the possibility. Just the thought of losing Oliver before he'd ever really had him drove Roy to the edge of near madness.

* * *

For close to two hours, Oliver sat on the freezing cold concrete floor with his back flush against the door that separated him from the nutcase on the other side. He could hear her scurrying about, dragging things, dropping things, and then the buzz saw would start up again. Admitting he was terrified was no longer much of a problem after he'd begun to hear things.

During the first fifteen minutes, Oliver had done his best to block out the noises from beyond with his hands clamped over his ears. He'd tried to breathe as little as possible, too, so he wouldn't have to inhale the stale aroma of death that surrounded him. That hadn't done him much good when the lack of oxygen further impaired his vision, or lack thereof. Several times he'd glanced at the glow-in-the-dark face of his digital watch, estimating the number of minutes he would need to wait before Felicity grew worried and attempted to reach Sara. Or would she contact Roy instead?

The next twenty minutes, Oliver had summoned to mind the list of names that he'd crossed off in his father's book. But that had eventually led to him remembering his father's last moments, and nothing upset Oliver more than that brief memory. Of his father's final words, assuring him that he was going to continue to live – to survive. And then witnessing the man that had raised him ending his own life. The blast of a gun going off. What was left of his father tumbling back into the life raft, covered in blood and gore. After another two or three days adrift at sea, trapped in that cramped rubber vessel with his father's butchered remains, Oliver had begun to wish for death. But death had a wicked, overpowering stench, much like that of the room in which he now sat. He had no desire to die in a roomful of nameless, faceless corpses.

No. Someone would come for him. And if they didn't, he would come up with a plan. But, most plans involved a strategy… and weapons. The remaining arrows that lay quietly in the leather quiver slung over his shoulder were practically useless without his bow. He hadn't included any special arrows this time, figuring that he would only need extra sharp ones to take out a serial rapist.

Forty-five minutes after that, Oliver was rubbing the circulation back into his legs. They'd grown numb from the cold and lack of movement. Logically, he knew that he ought to be standing and stretching them, preparing himself for the inevitable attack from the outside. But standing meant raising himself to his full height, and the ceiling was not far off from that. Anything could be hanging from the ceiling. Anyone, actually. Then there were the sounds. They crept along the floor as if surveying the makeshift graveyard that Oliver had been placed in, only to draw back again when Oliver kicked at them – whatever they were. He began to imagine that he could hear the bodies breathing, the air whistling lightly through their deflated lungs and parched throats.

For the tenth time in twenty seconds, Oliver pressed the backlight button on his watch, illuminating his face in the darkness. But only his face. He resisted the temptation to point the light in front of him because he didn't want to see. He preferred not to know what manner of carnage he had for roommates.

The noises and sounds continued. The breathing deepened, and Oliver slipped deeper into a claustrophobic panic that he couldn't control.

This time, he fumbled with the transceiver in his ear. Pressed it. Adjusted it. Nothing. It couldn't have been broken in the short fight that he'd lost to that she-monster out there. The only other explanation was that the frequency was being jammed.

Time passed slowly. The room grew colder, and Oliver grew more desperate.

With no warning, the door was suddenly unlocked and yanked open behind Oliver. He tumbled out of the cold, damp room, taking costly seconds to regain his equilibrium. By that time it was too late. Two sets of hands grabbed him by either arm, hoisting him off of the ground and hurling him towards a faintly lit corner of the room. Oliver barely had time to register the gleam of the buzz saw before he was being thrust towards it. He tried to jerk away from the hands that grabbed at him, but they were too strong.

"Hold him," a deep masculine voice ordered from behind Oliver.

"Shouldn't we find out who he is before we do this?" The woman who had attacked Oliver earlier sounded a lot more subdued now that her master had returned.

Do what? Oliver really didn't want to wait around to find out. He struggled harder but to no avail.

"After we have separated his hands from his body, I'm sure that he will only be too willing to reveal his identity to us," the man answered with evident amusement.

"What?!" Oliver kicked at the woman's shins, trying to get her to release him. He found another woman at his other side, twisted his hip to the right and kneed her in the gut with his left knee for all he was worth. His father's last word kept repeating in his head, 'survive', as he wrenched his cold hands forward, trying to break their grip. But he couldn't. And when a heavy blow cuffed him on the back of the head, he slumped forward, barely conscious.

"I assume that you're right handed," the deep voice rumbled, laughing sadistically at Oliver's disoriented pleading moan. "We will cut that hand off first."

**(Will Roy get to Oliver in time? There will be more background information on Oliver's new enemy, including his motive, in future chapters.)**


End file.
